Fertility Goddess.
Topic: Pregnancy
I'm only five months pregnant, but good Christ, I've got a masterpiece of a belly going on. This morning, kissing me goodbye, Ben said "Wow, you're really busting out all over" -- meaning the belly, the boobs, the whole package. (I'll have to have him take a photograph over the weekend. Exhibit B, you know.)

Times have changed, and pregnant women no longer dress in garments made from 20 yards of fabric which resemble oversized tents. I tend to wear maternity clothes that don't leave a whole lot to the imagination concerning the size and extent of my belly. I don't especially want to look like Lucy Ricardo did in 1953, and at my age, a pregnant belly is a bit of a miracle. I'm proud of it. But it seems that pregnancy and breastfeeding make a lot of people uncomfortable.

At the risk of being dooced, there is a high-level executive in the company where I work who seems unable to look at me when I'm pregnant. All that fecundity, I think, makes him uncomfortable -- he a guy who is into decorum, who still wears an impeccable suit to the office every day despite the fact that we switched to a "business casual" dress code years ago. He also didn't appreciate my practice, while pumping milk at work for my son, of simply hanging a photograph of a cow on my locked office door to signal that I was pumping. It seems a lot of people aren't at ease with such things.

There's been a lot of debate going on lately about breastfeeding in public. I do that -- I don't put a blanket over my baby's head or hide in the restroom, either. You would be amazed how few people have ever caught on that I was breastfeeding. If you wear nursing tops, with a bit of practice you can master enough sleight of boob that no one ever knows what you're up to. But some people get plenty shook up if they realize someone is nursing in public.

There are those who would immediately say that these attitudes are based in hostility toward women and objectification of their bodies, but I don't buy that. It's a knee-jerk oversimplification. Probably more like a manifestation of the basic Puritanity of our culture. Americans have a million neuroses about sexuality and reproduction, and I'm afraid this is just another one.

Me, I'm going to continue to flaunt my belly. I won't bare it in public, and I won't expect you to find it sexually attractive unless you are personally the cause of my pregnancy. But I'm not going to put on a burqa either.

But It's True.
Mood:  lazy
Topic: Pregnancy
Today, after a meeting with my boss, I heaved my increasingly pregnant self to my feet with an audible groan. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"My arse hurts," I replied. She looked a bit taken aback. Hey, don't ask, don't tell. She asked!

If the truth be known, my arse does hurt. I hope the energetic, sexually active part of pregnancy isn't over already. I hope I'm not into the slow, heavy, achy part. Even if this baby is early, as my babies tend to be, I am looking at 16 more weeks at the very least. That's four months of a sore butt. Kid, just for the record, when you get here, you'd better be nice to me. I don't suffer ass pain for just ANYONE, you know.

Footnote: My Tits.
Mood:  incredulous
Topic: Pregnancy
Those who have known me forever would be surprised if they knew that this A-cup queen, despite still wearing a size 4 and having no stretch marks, now wears a 36D. It's sort of fun having tits for a change, although I wish the fucking things still defied gravity as deftly as they did when I was nineteen.

My husband, who married me when I was in my late 30s, during my I damn well work out every day, have no crease at the base of my butt, and have no tits either phase, is amused and bemused. I married a girl with tits, he says. Who knew? They probably don't do him much good, what with all the pregnancy and nursing for the past four and a half years. Sorry, Ben. I hope that, as in the case of Mount Rushmore or the Taj Mahal, there is still some pleasure to be found in the viewing alone.

Turning Japanese, Redux.
Mood:  happy
Topic: Pregnancy
Who knew maternity clothes could be fun? Japanese Weekend is presently having a fantastic sale, and my husband is awesome, and I am now the proud owner of a stunningly hip maternity wardrobe. If you're knocked up and have a bit of money to blow, I highly recommend their stuff. Check these out (except you have to picture a human, older, less maddeningly svelte body inhabiting these clothes):









Thank you, Ben Crumpacker and Japanese Weekend. I now feel less like a dirigible and more like a girl.

Kiss My Aspirations.
Mood:  happy
Topic: Pregnancy
Last night on the phone, Ben finally delivered the news to his mother than I am pregnant. It was way overdue, what with my belly being the size of the Midwest and all. It wasn't like we were going to sneak it past her.

Her reaction? She laughed, he said. But a nice laugh. Not a Dr. Evil laugh or a Boris and Natasha laugh; just a laugh. I see her point. A woman my age finding herself accidentally knocked up borders on science fiction; it's definitely within the realm of comedy.

She also mentioned that with three small children, it would be difficult for me to work. I don't know about that; with three small children, it seems it would be far more difficult for me to stay home, especially since people would then expect me to accomplish things like housework and cooking. Talk about comedy.

It's true that at a certain point, some working mothers do not earn enough to financially justify the cost of the day care required to allow them to work. Me, I'm a paralegal. That is not an impressive thing to be, especially in light of all the Mensa and 99th percentile and starting college at 16 horseshit; people were throwing about phrases like brain surgeon and nuclear physicist. You might say I'm a bit of an underachiever.

But not enough of one! The fact is that I make a respectable amount of money, enough that even with the cost of gas and lunch and day care, the salary and benefits I bring in are more than enough to justify remaining in the work force. And do you know what that means?

It means that I am even a failure at being an underachiever. That is pretty funny, but I'm okay with it. My kids think I'm awesome.

Scary Belly.
Mood:  incredulous
Topic: Pregnancy
This week, my belly, as they say, popped. You would think, this being my fourth kid, I'd be used to it by now. But it took me by surprise, just as it has every other time.

The scale tells me I have only gained five pounds. The pregnancy books tell me the baby is roughly the size of an action figure right now -- not those little tiny Star Wars Galactic Heroes guys, not the great big Hagrid from Harry Potter either -- I'm thinking this kid is probably about He-Man sized. So, six inches or so. Why, then, is my belly abruptly the size of a Mini Cooper? Where'd the rest of it come from? (And don't say Twizzlers, because if you do, I will clout you with a licorice rope.)

Last Monday I was running around in my Ralph Lauren size fours. This week I am firmly in maternity clothes. So fast it gets away from you. Worse, we're meant to see my mother-in-law this weekend, and Ben still hasn't told her I'm pregnant. I think she's about to find out. This belly enters the room a full ten seconds before I do.

So, pregnant. Visibly, for all the world to see. Sam sized up my belly the other night and said "It's too crowded in there!" Kid, just wait. By my seventh month, the Zoning Department is going to want to get involved. And I think I've seen my girl parts for the last time until autumn or so. But that's okay. They always seem to get me in trouble.

Tiramisu Report.
Mood:  hungry
Topic: Pregnancy
It's actually quite good at Romano's, although it wants a bit more liqueur. Ben gave it an A- or B+. I say solid B.

Interesting Super Bowl today, although the fact that a Beatle to perform in the halftime show is considered the safe choice, with absolutely no edge whatsoever, is proof positive that we Baby Boomers have absolutely turned into our parents.

Why I'm Glad I Quit Weight Watchers.
Mood:  cool
Topic: Pregnancy
I quit Weight Watchers upon finding out I was pregnant. This is the online version of Weight Watchers, mind you; can you imagine me going to meetings? I certainly can't. What I said was The last thing I need is to go hang around with a bunch of fatties. Which is not to say that I'm not, or haven't been, a fatty myself from time to time; just that people who look like cows oughtn't to go hanging about in herds. It invites unflattering comparisons.

The reason, at this very moment, why I am glad I quit Weight Watchers is this: I had tiramisu from Maggiano's this afternoon. That shit is heavenly, and I only allow myself to eat it when I am pregnant, so I haven't had it for over two years. But I caught myself thinking, afterward: I wonder how many points that was?

In case you're among the uninitiated, Weight Watchers uses a system of points derived from portion size and calorie and fat content. To give you an idea, a McDonald's cheeseburger has, if I'm not mistaken, more points than you're meant to have in an entire day. The last thing a pregnant girl wants to do is verify that the thing she just ate is worth 80 points, or about 5 days' worth of calories. And if she's terminated her Weight Watchers account? She can't.

When it comes to tiramisu, ignorance truly is bliss. So is pregnancy.

Sleep And Diet Tips For Pregnant Girls.
Mood:  hungry
Topic: Pregnancy
(1) Red licorice is neither an appropriate nor a nutritious breakfast.

(2) The fact that your 2-year-old has suddenly developed the annoying parallel habits of fighting sleep until 11 p.m. and waking up at 6 a.m. is not coincidence. It is a deliberate and malicious assault upon Mommy's much needed sleep because, although he doesn't yet realize there is a baby on the way, he nonetheless deeply resents the fact and will sabotage you in any way he can.

(3) Despite your deepest convictions, the baby does not want a large slice of that diabolical chocolate cake from Hof's Hut with the dark chocolate icing and the chocolate chips. I said no, she does not.

(4) Only an idiot would have an entire day off work, all by herself, with no children and no family around, and elect to go shopping instead of taking a very long nap. What the hell were you thinking? Shopping can happen anytime. Sleep can never happen enough.

(5) Those Costco teriyaki beef sticks with 10 grams of fat each do not really count as a protein source. Although there is probably some protein in them somewhere, a food that consists of 70% fat leaves little space for protein content.

(6) The fact that your sons have replaced their longstanding weekend habit of sleeping until 9 a.m. with a new weekend habit of getting up by 7 a.m. is also conspiracy and deliberate sabotage. Did Sam not tell you just last night that he would prefer a puppy to a baby brother or sister?

* * *

Which reminds me of one of my favorite jokes. A little boy and his father come upon two dogs mating. The little boy asks, "Daddy, what are they doing?" Daddy replies, "They're making puppies."

That night, the little boy accidentally walks in on his mother and father having sex. He takes one look at the situation and yells to his father, "Hey Dad, flip her over -- I want a puppy!"

* * *

Unfortunately, Ben forgot to flip me over.

Monstrous Sleepy.
Mood:  lazy
Topic: Pregnancy
The bane of this pregnancy is not sick. The bane of this pregnancy is Monstrous Sleepy. It matters not one single bit what I do or don't have for lunch. or how monumentally boring my afternoon projects are or are not. Sometime between 1 p.m. and 3 p.m. the train pulls into Monstrous Sleepy, and it's a hell of a trick to keep from just slumping over unconscious on my keyboard for the remainder of the afternoon.

Caffeinated tea helps, but not enough. Of course, I am not so much meant to be having caffeine. Although I fail to see how something that fails to make me even marginally more awake could have the slightest effect on the fetus.

In fact, the only reason I am not asleep right now is because I am being kept awake by the need to pee. Again. Damn the first trimester. It always slips by in a sleepy haze of peeing and nausea. I guess that's why I forgot. I was too sick and too sleepy to notice.

The most beautiful sight in the world is the insides of my eyelids. Sleepy. Urmhrn.

Listen, Kid.
Mood:  lucky
Topic: Pregnancy
Listen, kid.

I saw you today. I have been trying not to think about you very hard, or maybe trying to think you weren't really in there, because to be honest, the very fact of you takes my breath away and scares me. It seems like all the odds are stacked against us, and popular opinion is hardly on our side. To actually love you and want to know you seems scandalous, forbidden, like something illicit.

But there you were today on the ultrasound, just like I knew in my heart you would be. That curled-up little body, that flickering heart. And now that I've seen you, I can hardly deny you. You've been a part of me for weeks now, my little treasure no one can see yet.

I don't know what lies in store for us. Weeks and weeks of time. Tests and needles, for sure, and maybe a bunch of people telling us we're not meant to be together. But kid? I think we might have something here. This could be the start of something amazing.

My baby. Mine. Another baby. Ours. Wow. And kid? It was nice to see you. Come August, I'll press that first kiss onto your fuzzy little head. You just hang in there. We'll show them.

Wondering.
Mood:  quizzical
Topic: Pregnancy
I've been abnormally quiet for a few days, turned inward. My ultrasound is in two days, and although I'm not nervous about it in the traditional sense, I'm sort of at a loss to do or think anything until I know the outcome.

For the first time, my entire notion of happiness isn't wrapped up in the outcome of this ultrasound. Back in the days of cooking up Sam and Matt, there was one good ultrasound: One that showed a beating heart and a properly-sized baby. And one bad ultrasound: One that did not show a viable pregnancy. The lines were very clearly drawn. I knew exactly where I stood and what I wanted, and that was Good and Sweetness and Light and Heartbeat.

This time, not so sure. Whatever the outcome, Go or No Go, I'm bound to feel conflicted about it. Whichever way it goes, I'll be a bit relieved and a bit disappointed. Of course, if the result is Yes, There Is A Baby, while that result is exciting and uplifting, it also opens the door to a whole ton of worry. Financial worry, what to tell the families worry, birth defect worry. I don't even want to think about the huge box of worries a baby would open up.

If there will be a baby? Of course we will be happy about it, and we will make ready, and the baby will be wanted, and I'm sure someday we won't be able to imagine life without him or her. But for now, we don't know. We just don't know. I thought it would make it easier, not having so much of myself invested in a positive outcome, but you know what? Actually, it makes it harder.

So for now, we wait. Two days and maybe an hour until the moment of truth. Then this particular level of uncertainty will clear, and we can move on to the next step of worry.

Note To Self.
Mood:  quizzical
Topic: Pregnancy
Note to Self: Self, next time you start thinking that you don't feel "pregnant enough" because you are not having morning sickness, and you think Boy, I would feel reassured if I would just have a little morning sickness, DO NOT THINK THAT.

Because do you know what will happen? Of course you do. You are going to suddenly have morning, noon, evening and night sickness, and it will never go away, and you will think that it will feel better if you can just eat something, but you will be wrong, because it will in fact feel worse if you just eat something. And then you will think Why on earth did I think I could eat that? And you will continue to taste it for, like, hours, and it will continue to turn your stomach.

Note to Fetus: Are you okay in there? It seems like you must be. Also, there had better not be two of you.

A Vast, Stanky Conspiracy.
Mood:  smelly
Topic: Pregnancy
I am not, in general, a paranoid person. That market has been cornered by my husband, who is convinced everytime an unfamiliar vehicle appears in our neighborhood that the driver thereof is casing the place to rob everyone (but mostly us). However, this weekend has left me convinced that the world is secretly involved in a vast conspiracy to stank me to death.

It started over the weekend with Ben's mother, who wears some very unfortunate perfume. I'm not entirely sure what the stuff is -- it could be Happy by Clinique -- but to my pregnant self, it is the very heart of stank. So take that as your base note, and try adding the aroma of Polish veal sausage frying. That sent me out to the back yard Friday afternoon, where I gagged under the pretext of sweeping up the patio. Saturday morning she came downstairs freshly anointed with the stuff, and I fled into the living room while that ungodly stank mixed with the aroma of the scallops Ben was sauteeing for brunch. Honestly, you couldn't come up with worse smell combinations if you planned it specially. See how this must be a conspiracy?

(The thing you may not realize is that MIL does not know I am pregnant. She would not/will not be happy about it. We've resolved not to tell family unless and until we have seen a heartbeat. So I can't play the pregnancy card, and in fact cannot even gag overtly, however bad the stank.)

Today, we went to the swap meet. The place was half empty, but everyone who was in attendance was either running an incense booth or smoking cigars. Such a sensory experience it was! The smell of a cigar brings on an instant, intense headache; a waft of incense triggers instant, severe nausea. The only thing that could have made it worse would have been if MIL had suddenly shown up, drenched in Happy and frying veal sausages -- by this afternoon, it seemed such a certain conspiracy that had she done so, I wouldn't have even been surprised. Puking on my shoes, yes. But not surprised.

Apologies to anyone reading this who may happen to wear Happy by Clinique. I am not meaning by this to call you stanky. Well, yes, actually I am. But only for the next 6-7 weeks or so. Forgive me. And step aside before I puke on your shoes.

Strangely Happy.
Mood:  a-ok
Topic: Pregnancy
One of the pitfalls of being completely retarded and having to use E-Z Bloggie Builder Lite for Dummies, as opposed to, say, Movable Type, is that I am limited to the stupid mood icons that Tripod offers me. I ask you, where is the strangely happy icon? Where is the one for I am taking iron supplements and my poop is black? Where, indeed, is the one for my baby tarantulas are growing like crazy and soon will be science fiction big? Limitations, baby. We all gotta live with them, or else switch to Movable Type.

Today, today I am strangely happy. It's a pregnancy thing. I've pointed out before that happiness is all about the little things, and today I am taking a ton of pleasure in all sorts of little things. These include, but are not limited to, the following:

Goodbye Cruel World by Elvis Costello.

Yogi Tea Cocoa Spice Tea.

Matt's charming habit of kicking his legs wildly when excited. The boy's got Happy Feet!

The prospect of tracking Santa with Sam on our computer Christmas Eve, and if my mother-in-law thinks it's rude to be on the computer when company has come to call, then I say this to her: Guess what you can kiss, mommy. And it ain't Santa Claus.

My Mr. Hanky Antenna Topper. Holy shit, it's Christmas!

And furthermore, in two hours and sixteen minutes, my three-day Christmas weekend will begin. I can't wait to watch Sam's eyes on Christmas morning. Have a strangely happy holiday, everyone.

A Sick Cow.
Mood:  hungry
Topic: Pregnancy
The pregnancy thing has set in, full swing. How is it that I'm 6 weeks pregnant and already visibly bloated? (It's true; Ben reluctantly confirmed it.) It's not like I'm eating that much, but suddenly my belly is poofed up. Now, it's true that with Matt I was in maternity clothes by 8 weeks, but let's face it, that was more FAT than anything else, since I'd not yet lost the Sam weight. At this moment I weigh about 40 pounds less than I did when I conceived Matt. So why the fat belly already? Huh? I feel like a cow.

And make that a sick cow. I have a feeling I ain't seen nothing yet when it comes to morning sickness (unless I'm having a girl, since with Erika I didn't have morning sickness), but I basically have three digestive states at this point: Ravenous, Actually Eating Right Now, and Feeling Sick. I'm always in at least one of those states; sometimes two at once, and occasionally all three.

Furthermore, I'd forgotten about the pregnancy headaches. I always said that God makes you forget certain things, otherwise no one would ever have more than one child and the human race would die out. Damn these first trimester headaches. They are nearly constant, and I'm loathe to gulp Tylenol because TYLENOL DOES NOT WORK. It's a lot like the Catholics and the rhythm method that way -- the only thing you're allowed to use DOES NOT WORK. Surely there's a lesson there, although I'll be damned if I know what it is.

In general, though, pregnancy is pretty cool this time around. For once I'm not stressed about the outcome, and do not race to the bathroom every 20 minutes to see if I'm starting a miscarriage. I no longer panic at every cramp and twinge. I do worry about getting fat, because I sure did get fat with Sam and it took me three years to take off all that fat, but WTF? If this pregnancy pans out, I will have had THREE BABIES PAST THE AGE OF FORTY. Surely I am entitled to look like a cow.

A sick cow. But a sick, happy, peaceful, contented cow. Not so bad. Not so bad at all.

The Nose Doesn't Want To Know.
Mood:  smelly
Topic: Pregnancy
Is this blog suddenly going to be all about pregnancy, like Dooce was for a time, like AB's blog is about to be? Yes, very likely. Deal with it. Even the fourth time around, pregnancy is endlessly fascinating.

This morning I experienced the sudden onset of Preggo Nose. It's like waking up bionic: Suddenly you can smell bacon frying two counties away. I emerged from the shower, all redolent of white tea and ginger sugar scrub, to discover that suddenly I could smell the bedroom. Not that it smelled bad, mind you, despite being inhabited by three creatures of the male persuasion. But all at once I could smell every individual smell in that bedroom.

Getting dressed, I sprayed on a bit of one of my favorite perfumes, Gardenia Passion by Annick Goutal. (That is a shameless plug, because even though the shit is from France and costs insane amounts of money, it's the only gardenia scent that smells like actual gardenias and not like the proverbial French whorehouse.) Ordinarily Gardenia Passion is a delicious, subtle scent. Today it was not. Today it was:

OMG DEATH BY GARDENIA CHOKING CHOKING CAN'T BREATHE GASP SMOTHERING IN GARDENIA HELL CHOKE GASP DYING *argh*

I was okay once it cleared out a bit. Then I went downstairs and, in passing, threw a bit of paper into our kitchen trash can. Ben had taken out the trash since dinner last night, but we'd had honeydew melon white tea during the evening. Again, ordinarily a delicious, subtle smell. But when I leaned over that trash can, I was abruptly knocked flat on my back by a white tea battering ram. Same thing on getting to the office: I walked past the Christmas tree and nearly smothered.

Now I know how a bloodhound feels. There are many nice smells in the world: Christmas tree, dry leaves, wood fire, and babies (okay, not the nether end) are among them. But most smells in the world are not nice. The public, for example. I'm going to have to stay out of public places for the rest of the first trimester, because most people just don't smell very good, either because they have not washed enough or because they have chosen to douse themselves in cheap fragrance and/or *gag* hairspray. And smokers! California is better than most places, but even here, people smoke outdoors! And I can smell it from five miles away!

The up side: I get out of poopy diaper duty for the next eight weeks. Because Ben knows that if he doesn't change that diaper for me, he is going to have TWO messes to clean up.

Shit, I just realized I mentioned white tea not once, but twice in that post. My Midwestern, Eastern and Southern friends are probably saying There she goes with more of that wacky California shit. Time to go outside and kick my own ass again.

Coming To Grips.
Mood:  celebratory
Topic: Pregnancy
Forty-eight hours after learning I was pregnant, we've mostly calmed down, and now that I've been to the ob/gyn and had the pregnancy confirmed, I think even Ben believes it. We're somewhat less terrified and somewhat more happy, although we have no idea what we're going to do with three kids under the age of five. (Probable answer: Run around chasing them a lot, and say "no" a lot.)

I had to take the boys with me to the ob/gyn's, and after I had chased Matt out from behind the receptionist's counter, saying "Matthew Crumpacker, I am talking to you!" I said to the receptionist, "And I want another one exactly WHY?" At moments like that, the reality of another one really hits home.

Of course, we have the heartbeat thing to get through; my ultrasound is January 6 (the day before Matt's second birthday, delicious irony), and we won't even know until then whether this pregnancy is viable. Up until this morning, I thought it wouldn't matter if it wasn't. But the idea is starting to grow on me.

Damn, getting attached again. The potential heartbreak of a precarious pregnancy. The worry doesn't stop until your newborn is in your arms, and even then? It's really only just beginning.

The Pregnancy Test.
Mood:  accident prone
Topic: Pregnancy
Was. POSITIVE. This. Time.

We don't even know what to think. We were completely not planning this, and we have no idea what to do, or what to think, or how to react. We are still in shock.

I guess that explains the Asian food. And the Polish food. And the lack of a period.

God help us.

Who Stole The Kiszka?
Mood:  hungry
Topic: Pregnancy
It has become apparent that I have completely lost my mind, culinarily speaking. Apart from wanting to eat nothing but Asian food, I have developed an unnatural focus upon Polish food. For the record, half of the blood running through my veins is of Polish origin (my mother was born Downarowicz, my maternal grandmother was a Zambrycki), but this, in the words of Elvis Costello, is strange and sudden.

It's so strange, sudden and expensive that I just placed an order on a Chicago Polish cuisine website requesting Polish rye bread, mustard and horseradish, together with kiszka, veal sausage and kielbasa. Do you see where that is unnatural? I might as well, I don't know, move to Wisconsin or something. (What say, Lisa?) Talk about culinary contradictions. I couldn't be more inconsistent if I sat down and thought about it.

Good thing we know I'm not pregnant. Because given my recent culinary tangents? I would so be convinced I was completely pregnant. And Polish. And Japanese.